


little boy blue

by vaderlingo



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Breastfeeding, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Delusions, Diapers, Forced Infantilism, House of M - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Incest, Mind Control, Mostly Non-Sexual Age Play, Other, Reality Bending, Unreliable Narrator, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22369639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaderlingo/pseuds/vaderlingo
Summary: After agreeing to run away from Genosha with her brother rather than face execution, Wanda is losing control of her powers and desperate to be a mother again - an unfortunate combination for Pietro.
Relationships: Pietro Maximoff/Wanda Maximoff
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	little boy blue

“I’ll fight them for you,” he promises her, and she shakes her head. “I won’t let them kill you, Wanda, I won’t, I’d _die_ first—” 

The worst part is, she knows he means it. He’ll fight their friends, and probably kill some of them, but he won’t be able to kill them all, so they’ll kill _him_. And she just can’t let that happen. She just...can’t. She needs to save everyone, but her brother most of all.

They’re coming, though. There’s no time. Her head is spinning, and she doesn’t know what’s real, and she needs more time—

“Okay,” she says. “Let’s run. Take me away from here, Pietro.”

With a sob of relief, he does, scooping her into his arms and leaving Genosha behind in a blur.

* * *

They end up in a cabin, deep in the woods of their homeland. The others will be following them, Wanda knows—she closes her eyes and wills the universe not to let anyone find them, and hopes that will be enough for now. 

A thin layer of dust blankets everything, from the minimalist furniture to the unplugged refrigerator, but there are tins of food and sealed boxes of pasta in the cupboards. Enough for a few days, at least. They’ll be lucky to last here undiscovered for that long.

* * *

They’re safe, for now, but that doesn’t fix everything. Wanda still misses her children, her _babies._ She sits on the narrow cot in the corner of the cabin and draws the blankets up around her, remembering them. Their round, sweet faces, the way they’d babble and coo and suck their little thumbs, how warm they were when she pulled them into her lap and hugged them close to her chest, how their cries would calm into contentment as she nursed them—

Pietro sits down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He holds her close to him, burying his face in her hair.

It’s nice, but it’s not what Wanda wants. She pulls back, far enough that she can look at her twin’s face. His eyes are on her, intense as always—he’s so devoted to her, always trying to take care of her.

“What do you need?” he asks. “I’ll do anything for you, Wanda. You know that.”

She does. It’s so unfair to him, all this. He looks so tired. His face is lined with stress. She knows how worried he is for her—she wishes he didn’t have to worry. It isn’t _fair_.

She wishes she could take care of him, for once.

Pietro’s face relaxes. He leans against her. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him across her lap; he’s tall and heavy with dense muscle, but they manage, and soon enough he’s curled against her, his head tucked under her chin.

His thumb slips into his mouth. 

Wanda smiles, and kisses the top of his head. She rocks him back and forth until his eyes drift closed. 

She dozes too, leaning back against the wall, and when she wakes a few hours later, night has truly fallen. Her back aches a little, and she tries to lie down without jostling the precious bundle in her arms.

But Pietro has always been a light sleeper, and his eyes blink open. For a moment, he looks disoriented—and then he pulls the thumb from his mouth in a blur of speed, and stares at it in confusion. His eyes snap to her. She can see the accusation in them, and it sends a jolt through her body. She had never meant to _upset_ him.

“It’s okay,” she reassures him, reaching out to take his arm.

And it _is_ okay. The distress leaves his eyes. The thumb pops back into his mouth as he snuggles close to her. They lie down together, and Wanda holds him close.

She loves him so much. She just wants him to slow down and rest, her brother. Her _little_ brother. 

Her baby.

She rubs his back until he falls asleep.

* * *

Wanda wakes in the morning as the sun filters in through the windows, feeling more well-rested than she has in years. Pietro’s wet the bed, but that’s okay: babies do that. (Although with her old babies, there had never been this much of it...she pushes the thought away.) He blinks sleepily up at her as she cleans him up.

She sets about making breakfast. The food they’d found the previous evening seems suddenly inadequate—growing children need _real_ food, not just tinned meat and boxed pasta. The hum of the refrigerator catches her attention, and she opens it to find it full to bursting with fresh fruit and vegetables and meats and cheeses. She pulls out a lovely ripe apple, a jug of orange juice, and a packet of bacon, then grabs her favorite pancake mix from the cupboard.

Pietro wanders over. He stands a few feet in front of her, looking slightly dazed. She hugs him, then sits him down at the kitchen table with the juice and the apple to eat while she bustles about the kitchen cooking the rest of the food. Soon the smell of pancakes and bacon fills the air, and Pietro smiles up at her when she brings it to him.

It’s so nice to be a happy family again.

* * *

Pietro has another accident after breakfast, wetting himself and the floor without any warning. He sniffles, and Wanda kicks herself mentally. She should have predicted it, with all that juice! She’ll have to find a solution quickly; with his enhanced metabolism and the amount of water she knows he needs to drink to keep up with it, his bladder will soon be full again. And then there’s the possibility of a messier kind of accident...no, she doesn’t want to deal with that. 

“It’s all right, darling,” she assures him, and then searches the cabin. Her search doesn’t take long: she hadn’t noticed it before, but there peeking out from under the bed is a packet of diapers. She lies Pietro down on a towel and changes him—the diapers fit him perfectly, of course, and she knows that he’ll be so much happier once he’s dry and comfortable, and that thought makes _her_ happy.

“Good boy,” she murmurs, once she’s done. He looks so sweet, so adorable in his t-shirt and diaper. But...his legs are uncovered, and his other clothes are soiled, and she doesn’t want him to get cold. Cold babies can get sick, and if they get too sick they could—no no no no _no_. 

Wanda tucks him under a blanket and searches the cabin again. She opens the top drawer of the dresser, and smiles when she finds it full of flannel onesies, just in Pietro’s size. Perfect to keep him warm. She pulls out one in his favorite shade of blue.

* * *

Time passes. They never leave the cabin: can’t risk someone seeing them, and anyway, there’s always plenty of fresh food and water and diapers. Sometimes Wanda’s mind wanders, and by the time she comes back to herself, Pietro’s eyes are clear, and he seems confused or distressed. But his bad moods are only fleeting; the moment she notices them, they disappear, leaving him happy and calm again.

After one such time, it occurs to her that she might have been giving him the wrong kind of food. He is a _baby_ , after all.

It’s been a while since she nursed, but she finds that her breasts are heavy and aching. She kneels down next to Pietro where he’s sitting on the floor, playing with the toy trains she had made for him. He looks up at her and she pops the pacifier out of his mouth—why hadn’t it occurred to her before now to soothe him with the real thing?

“Come here, sweetheart,” she says, and pulls him to his feet and then over to the bed. She lies down with her head propped up on the pillows, and Pietro follows, stretching out beside her. Hiking up her shirt, Wanda pulls him on top of her. Cupping one of her breasts in her hand, Wanda moves the tip towards his mouth.

Pietro pulls back, wide-eyed. He does that sometimes—struggles, resists things he thinks he shouldn’t want. But she knows what’s best for him, and besides, her breasts are swollen, tender, starting to leak— 

She strokes her hand along his side to comfort him. “Let Mommy feed you,” she urges.

His breathing turns heavy. His eyes are dark. “Wanda,” he gasps. 

“Mommy,” she corrects him, and guides his head down towards her breasts. 

This time, he doesn’t resist. His mouth hovers above her nipple, and Wanda squeezes her breast until milk dribbles out of it, encouraging him. Finally, he latches on, and she winces because she _is_ tender, but then she’s just relieved as he finally starts to suck, to suckle.

And then she freezes, because even through the padding of his diaper, she can feel the hardness that’s suddenly pressing against her thigh. Wanda gasps, scandalized, and pushes him off her. Now that he’s flat on his back, she can see it: the tenting of his onesie between his legs. Tears prick at her eyes because that’s wrong. It’s wrong! Babies don’t _do_ that.

“No, Pietro,” she scolds him, her voice sounding shrill even to herself. “No! Bad boy! It isn’t supposed to be like that!”

And by the time she wipes her tears away, it _isn’t_ like that. The tenting has disappeared. His expression is placid, and his eyes are no longer dark and intense.

She pulls him back towards her. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

He nuzzles against her chest, and this time he doesn’t need any prompting to take her nipple into his mouth. Wanda hums to him and strokes his hair as he suckles, looking content. The warmth from his mouth seems to spread from her breast, suffusing throughout her entire body. 

She had _known_ this would make them both feel better.

* * *

She and Pietro are so happy, living together in their little cabin, that Wanda almost forgets that the rest of the world exists.

It’s a shock, then, when the Avengers and the X-Men arrive. Wanda senses that they’re coming, and sets Pietro down for his nap. She hopes they’ll have the manners not to wake a sleeping baby. Opening the door, she slips outside as they approach.

“Wanda.” She’s not surprised that Steve Rogers is leading the group, or that he’s the first to speak. He sounds wary. “It’s good to see you.”

“Go away,” she tells him. 

He holds up his hands. “We just want to talk to you,” he says. “We haven’t gotten any reports of you hurting anyone since you left. That’s good, Wanda.”

Wanda says nothing.

“Is Pietro around?” he asks. “We’d like to talk to him, too.”

“He’s inside,” she says. “But he doesn’t want to talk to you. We’re happy here. Leave us alone.”

She sees the glances being exchanged behind Steve’s back, and her stomach sinks. “Look,” he says, spreading his hands with the palms facing upward. “If you’ve actually gotten better, if you’re less—uh, if you’re more stable now, then great. We’re happy to let you and Pietro take some time to yourselves to recover. But we just want to check in and make sure everything’s okay. Why don’t you let Doctor Strange take a look at you?”

“No need,” says Emma Frost, stepping to the front of the group. “I can already tell you: she’s still crazy. 

Wanda tenses, and sees the group in front of her do the same. “You sure?” asks Steve.

“Definitely,” says Frost. “There’s a reason she’s not letting anyone see her brother. What she’s done to him? It’s fucked up. I mean, _really_ fucked up. We’ve all seen a lot of fucked-up things, but this...gotta say, Maximoff, even after everything else you’ve done, I didn’t realize you had it in you.”

Wanda balls her hands into fists. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snaps. “Just leave us alone!”

“What did she do to Pietro?” asks Kitty Pryde.

“She turned him into a baby,” Frost responds.

“ _What?_ ” It breaks Wanda’s heart to hear that expression of disbelief coming from Carol Danvers—her friend, Carol, Wanda had hoped she’d understand…

“Seriously?” adds Janet, and Wanda’s heart breaks further. “Are you sure?”

“Mentally, not physically,” Frost explains. “And yes, I’m sure—see for yourself.”

Behind Wanda, the door creaks open again. She whirls around, but it’s too late; Pietro steps outside. From behind her, she hears gasps. Swear words. Wanda wonders what they see to make them react that way. She only sees a sweet little boy, _her_ sweet little boy, sucking on a pacifier and wearing footie pajamas, his hair tousled from the nap disrupted by the invaders in their quiet little sanctuary.

“Pietro?!” Steve asks, sounding incredulous. 

“Oh, Wanda,” says Simon.

“Kinky,” comments Tony Stark. Wanda almost kills him on the spot.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Wanda, why don’t you...uh, how about you…”

Scott Summers interrupts him. “How about she _puts him back_.”

“You can’t reason with her. She’s nuts.” Wolverine gestures at her, claws extended. “Let’s… _subdue_...the Witch and then bring her brother back to Xavier. Chuck can fix him.”

“No!” Wanda screams. “He’s my baby. My baby! You can’t take him away from me!” She reaches out for Pietro, and he clings to her side.

“Wanda,” Doctor Strange says in a gentle voice. “He’s your brother. Your _twin_ brother. Remember?”

“No!”

“We only want to help you,” Strange says. “Both of you.”

“You want to tear a family apart!” Wanda shrieks. “Separate a mother from her child! _Monsters_!” Beside her, Pietro whimpers.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” says Wolverine. “Cap, there’s no helping her, you gotta see that now, right? She’s bugfuck crazy, and she’s capable of mind-whammying any one of us into _that_ , if she doesn’t just kill us outright. You’ve gotta make the call.” He brandishes his claws.

Wanda clutches at Pietro, her mind racing. She could ask him to run them away again, but she knows now that it wouldn’t last. The others would follow. There would always be people hunting them, judging them, trying to tear them apart. People who didn’t understand.

Unless...an idea crawls its way into her mind. Unless she could _make_ them understand. She could make _everyone_ understand. 

And then nobody would judge them. Nobody would have any reason to tear them apart.

“Rogers!” exclaims Frost, but she doesn’t have time for any more of a warning than that.

The world goes white.

* * *

Wanda sat on a bench in a park. Pietro, clad in a soft purple onesie, was draped across her lap, head resting against her chest from where he had just finished nursing. Buttoning up her shirt, Wanda watched a stream of people go about their day around her: joggers out for their morning exercise, young lovers enjoying the fresh air together, families walking dogs, parents with their children...and other Caretakers with their Littles.

Speaking of which… “Emma!” she exclaimed, catching sight of the other woman heading toward her. “It’s so good to see you. How are the X-Men?”

Emma nodded in greeting as she came to a stop in front of the bench. “They’re fine. Everything is going well.”

“And how’s Scotty?” Wanda asked, nodding towards the Little in question. Scott Summers, dressed in overalls and clutching a teddy bear, took a shy step behind his Caretaker. A futile gesture, given that he was taller than she was.

Emma laughed. “Oh, the same as ever. Why don’t you go play, Scott?” She gestured towards the playground—the half with the larger-sized equipment—then turned back towards Wanda as he scampered away. “Does your little one want to join?”

Wanda shook her head, holding Pietro closer. He could probably use the chance to let off some energy, but she never liked letting him too far away from her. There was a reason for that, though she couldn’t quite remember it. 

“Mommy?” Pietro tugged at her sleeve.

She looked down at him. “Hungry, baby?” 

He shook his head. His cheeks were tinged pink, and he was fidgeting in her lap. Wanda sniffed the air, then wrinkled her nose. Yes—he definitely needed to be changed.

Emma had noticed, too. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said, and strode off after Scott.

Wanda moved Pietro off her lap, then laced their fingers together as she rose to her feet. She sighed. She loved her baby, but changing his diapers after he had dirtied one could be an unpleasantly messy task. Still, he was her family, and family took care of one another.

And she _would_ take care of him. Forever. 


End file.
